


Stage Five

by DestielsDestiny



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: 1x17 reaction fic, ? - Freeform, Although I hope not, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Mentions of Cancer, Neil focused, Sad, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14032449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielsDestiny/pseuds/DestielsDestiny
Summary: Life has an unfortunate habit of repeating itself, distorted echoes of the same events, the same traumas and triumphs, fractaling and gyrating throughout their lives.





	Stage Five

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Reaction to ending of 1x17. First Good Doctor fanfic, the voices and characterizations of everyone might be a bit off.

“Her name was Genevieve.” It was barely a flash of brown, but Neil caught just the edge of Shaun’s gaze, staring at him as if he held all the secrets to the universe. 

She used to look at him like that, when they were kids. 

He laid a hand gently on the picture frame, fingers miming a caress against the cold glass. 

“She was sixteen when she died.” Shaun’s hands twisted in his lap, his face growing pale and his movements more frenetic. 

“She was my sister.” The brown eyes, when they came into view, were wide and startled and so very, very sad. 

00

Neil Melendez learned at an early age that people were not to be trusted. Whether it was the store clerk who accused him of stealing bread, the doctors who refused to treat his comatose little sister, the grandmother who supplied his mother with enough gin to forget everything painful well into the next century. 

The father who was always a step out the door, checked out in grief and guilt. The teasing girls who dared his sister to climb a tree higher than any other in town. 

Or most of all, perhaps, Genie for taking the dare, and falling fifty feet to land right beside her big brother’s worn out sneakers. 

It is a lesson he learned early, and learned well. It taught him the value of caution. It taught him the value of knowledge. Of self-control. Of restraint. 

Most of all, it taught him the value of control. 

When Shaun Murphy enters his life and his residency program, he sees a wild card. An unknown factor. A variable that cannot be controlled for. 

And thus, he responds accordingly. 

Until someone else looks at Murphy, and sees the very same thing. Sees a factor, not a doctor. 

And somehow, just like he did at fourteen, screaming the word idiot into his sister’s confused face, only to break his knuckles on Billy Todd’s nose the very same day for saying the very same thing, Neil doesn’t hesitate. 

And after that, whether in a VR simulation, offering a scalpel, trusting a diagnosis, following a hunch, when he looks at Sean Murphy, he doesn’t see a factor. He sees a doctor. 

He sees a person. 

00

“He’s allergic to codeine. And peanuts. And most shellfish.” Dr. Glassman fiddled with a paper on his desk, with his glasses, with a permanent marker, his eyes everywhere and nowhere. 

“He forgets to carry his epi-pen, since we have no evidentiary experience that it is necessary.” A half-smile flickers across the man’s face, one he allows Neil to see the very edges of for just a moment. 

“He hates strawberries, but blueberries are alright on weekends.” More paper fiddling. 

“Dr. Glassm-,” a withering look, “Aaron…” Neil enunciated carefully, then hesitated for a long moment. 

When Jessica had come to him one morning, make up running and face like stone, Neil had somehow known before she uttered a single word. 

Aaron Glassman had been his teacher for the better part of a decade, but they had never truly clicked, never been all that close. Neil suspects starting to date Jessica had something to do with it. He gets it. No one is ever truly good enough to date our children, biological or otherwise. 

His children. Neil swallowed hard. He may not be all that close to the man before him, emotionally if not professionally, but he will be the first to point out that if this hospital has a heart, he’s currently watching it cope with a terminal cancer diagnosis by avoiding any and all eye contact with anything beyond office supplies. 

“We have breakfast most mornings, or we did until recently. Shaun likes chocolate chip pancakes, as high a stack as they can make it. With lots of syrup.” The smile is stronger this time, the gaze steadier. Neil suspects this is truly the most resigned he’s ever seen anyone look. 

They put tiger lilies on Genie’s coffin. They were out of season, and prohibitively expensive, but they were her favourite, before. 

Neil met Aaron’s gaze squarely. 

“What else should I know?” The smile he receives is the closest to approval he’s ever gotten from this man, and if Neil’s ego was even slightly more pronounced, he would feel a swell of pride at that, horrendous circumstances or not. As it is, he just feels tired. 

“Maybe just look in on him, from time to time?” Tired, but not hopeless. 

Genie used to call him the awesomest big brother who ever lived. It was the last thing she ever said to him, in fact. He thought he lost that, a long time ago. 

Neil reached a hand out and covered Aaron’s for a moment, squeezing firmly. 

“I’ll look out for him. I promise.” Aaron smiled wetly, his voice hushed. “Thank you.” 

Neil shifted uncomfortably, then quirked an eyebrow. “How does Shaun feel about jelly beans?” 

Genie had loved them. They always used to make her laugh, after. 

Aaron’s laughter was tinged with sadness, but for a moment, that mattered not at all, to either of them. 

00

Shaun puts violets on the coffin, his shoulders hunched in an overcoat far too broad and long to belong to him. Claire brushes her fingers against his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. 

The rain drips down umbrellas, soaking everything indiscriminately. No one gives a speech. There were and will be many other times for that. There will be a plaque, a yearly memorial, a research fund and a wing and a textbook. They will not forget. 

But this moment isn’t for that. This moment is for standing, silent, together. Remembering. 

The clouds are breaking when Shaun finally stands, sweeping his gaze over them all, lighting quick. He stares down at the grave for a moment more. 

“Good-bye, Dr. Glassman.” 

And he turns, and walks away. Slowly, everyone else follows. 

And above their heads, inextricably, the sun begins to shine. 

00

Neil hesitated for a moment, then grabbed another apple and stuffed it into his pocket. 

He turned just as his residents hurried around the corner. Perfect timing, as always. 

Neil smirked at them. “Good job being on time everyone.” Claire and Jared exchanged small grins. Shaun regarded the floor, resolute and somber. He looked like that a lot these days. 

But then, so did they all. It was hard, learning how to keep breathing after your heart stopped beating. Neil has been attempting it since he was eighteen, without a great deal of success. 

Neil glanced at the clock, brought up a mental schedule, and shrugged. Screw it. 

“Come along everyone. We’re getting breakfast before rounds today.” 

He slipped a perfectly red apple out of his pocket as he said it, flipping it from one hand to the other, a nervous tick he was attempting to own. 

Shaun’s gaze flicked to the apple and held for a moment, before settling somewhere to the right of Neil’s face. “That’s a good idea. We should get pancakes. Carbohydrates enhance mental acuity in measured doses.” 

Neil smiled, warm and genuine. “They do indeed Dr. Murphy, they do indeed.” 

00 

He didn’t become a doctor to fix his sister. Not to save her, or even others like her. Whether five or ten or eighteen, Neil has always known there were some things nothing and nobody could fix. 

But that didn’t mean you shouldn’t work your very hardest, and try your very damndest, to change that.


End file.
